


A Stag’s Tryst

by Gidgit2u



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Coming Out, Eventual Drarry, F/M, Gen, M/M, Other, Post War, Ptsd in different forms, Stag Party, ron’s a great friend, veritaserum or dare, we all have to grow up sometime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-10 17:56:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19909846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gidgit2u/pseuds/Gidgit2u
Summary: Growing up, Harry had heard he was the wrong sort. A freak.That whatever was in him inherited from his parents should be stamped out.Most would think that his family hated magic. They’d be right, but it is interesting what the subconscious suppresses in order to survive.Despite being engaged to Ginny, and enjoying the trials and tribulations of the Auror recruitment phase , Harry still feels unsettled. Awkward.Like something just isn’t fitting right.When Ron throws Harry his stag night  at the Leaky Caldron and the drinks are flowing freely, Harry discovers something that shakes him to his very core.When the morning comes, what truths will have been exposed, and what lives will be changed forever?





	A Stag’s Tryst

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [Chasing_To_Keep_FW94](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chasing_To_Keep_FW94/pseuds/Chasing_To_Keep_FW94) in the [Restricted_Section_2019](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Restricted_Section_2019) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> Harry is engaged to Ginny.  
> A stag party leads to a drinking game, which leads to a joking kiss. At first.  
> But now it's not such a joke, and Harry finds himself confused.
> 
> •••
> 
> Story Winner for:  
> “Entirely Enticing (Overall Characterization)” &  
> “Perfect Paragon (Overall Male Characterization)”
> 
> Runner up for:  
> “Lovers’ Lament (Best Angst)”

“Right, Harry, time to get things really started.You first mate, Veritiserum or dare?”

“Ron, I don't think…” Harry rubbed the back of his head, hesitating.

It wasn't that he didn’t want to enjoy himself, to let loose for a few hours.

Tonight of all nights, it was expected.

It was just… it’d only been scant months since the war and sometimes he had to remind himself that he _could_ cut loose.

He could act his age without the burden of imminent death and societal expectations a tangled scarf around his neck, choking him.

He relaxed his shoulders and took a swig of his drink, grimacing at the taste.

He truly did prefer butterbeer.

Ron had booked the back room of the Leaky Cauldron for Harry’s Stag Party. 

The public nature of the spot would have been a concern had it not been warded to the gills by none other than the Acting Minister of Magic himself—Kingsley Shacklebolt.

Nothing and no-one was going to ruin the last hurrah of the bloody Chosen One.

Or so Ron had announced as he'd pulled a grumbling Harry into the pub for supper.

Harry flicked his glance around, taking in the group surrounding him. 

Those resting in chairs around the table with the remains of their devoured feast cooling upon it and those lounging sated around the perimeter.

At Ron, his first mate in the Wizarding world, his first true mate ever.As much as Harry adored Hermione, Ron would always hold the mantle for longest true blue. 

Ron was one of the very select few who could truly say they knew the ‘real’ Harry.The parts he kept for himself, hidden from the world.One of the very few whom he had no secrets from.

He took in Dean and Seamus, the former—curiously wearing long sleeves despite the heat given off by the fire—trying without success to keep the latter from drowning himself in his cups before the stag party got underway. 

Seamus’s way of dealing with the fallout of war.

They each had their own vices. Each of them held together by bits and scraps of memories, hopes, nightmares and vices.

He knew what some of those in the room grappled with, others he wouldn't even begin to guess at or pry.

Harry took in Neville.Back to the wall. Eyes darting around the room.Arms and feet randomly twitching from long term exposure to the cruciatus curse.Despite that, Neville still emanated a placidness Harry now knew to be a deceptive mask for survival.

Harry watched as dancing nerves rippled the skin of Neville’s sinewy forearm and caught Neville's eye before, as usual, it slid away.

‘ _Why’s he never able to hold my gaze anymore?_ ’ Harry wondered, puzzled.

These were the boys-turned-men he'd spent his formative years growing up alongside.

Despite their disagreements and differences, when it counted, these were the men who'd stood with Harry against Voldemort and had fought in the war on the frontlines and in the proverbial trenches.

And then, there were the newer additions to their motley crew.

Draco Malfoy, surprisingly, had turned out to be less of an arsehole and more a sarcastically witty git once free of his father’s tyranny and the enlightenment that blood supremacy was utter bullshit.

He worked with Hermione, furthering creature rights.

Having no hope in hades of joining Hermione as an employee of the Ministry—”And why in Merlin’s name would I want to tie myself to that bureaucratic stinksap,” he'd muttered once when asked—Draco had gone into private practice with two of their classmates, creating the Wizarding equivalent of a non-profit advocacy organization.

Daphne Greengrass and Theodore Nott—the latter who was lounging against the fireplace, staring at the flames and pretending not to flinch every time a door slammed in the hallway beyond the door to their room—were the classmates.

Classmates who Harry could now claim as true acquaintances, if not solidly on the road to proper mates.

Next to Theodore stood Blaise Zabini.

Now, there was a surprise.

Harry hadn't known Blaise well—or any of the Slytherins—before the war, but had always assumed the Zabini’s were neutral.

They'd never publicly came out in support of Voldemort's spouted Pure-Blood propaganda, though they'd neither disdained it publicly either.

According to Hermione, who'd gleaned enough information through conversations with Malfoy and sworn to extreme secrecy, Blaise had lost his father in the first war. 

As she'd relayed the confidential information to Harry and Ron over dinner one evening, she'd told them that one of Voldemort's followers had feared his influence in politics and his sizable wallet, and had cursed the man into an early grave while simultaneously attempting to defile Blaise'smother.

His mother's magic had fought back to protect her, but the intense struggle splintered something within her magical core.The result earned her the condition that led to her being crowned ‘The Black Widow.’

Blaise had started a company whose credo was to assist all muggleborns with integration into Wizarding Society upon their first sign of accidental magic.

Not waiting until they turned eleven to bring them into the fold.

He claimed it was all done for the designer suits—adamantly deigning Muggle Designers superior to traditional Wizarding tailors—but Harry knew that was just an aloof veneer. 

To those allowed beneath his carefully cultivated facade, they saw a man completely dedicated to eradicating barriers for those he knew to be disadvantaged in their world, and bridging the ignorance gap for both the Pure-Bloods and Muggle-borns alike.

Harry, Ron And Hermione had become, over the past few months, some of those allowed beneath the surface of his smooth demeanor and Harry felt he could consider both Malfoy and Zabini as friends.

The rest of the Weasley men had politely declined to partake in the evenings festivities.

Arthur was still acutely grieving over Fred, Charlie was back with the dragons in Romania, Bill was with Fleur as she dealt with apparently horrific first trimester symptoms, and Percy and George had removed themselves to the continent shortly after the war to escape the haunting memories and the devastating personal losses.

George had shattered all the mirrors in the Burrow before he left in a fit of mourning after seeing his missing ear, and Percy’s fiancé had been killed in the aftermath of the Battle of Hogwarts shortly after he'd witnessed Fred die in front of him.

The breaking of the dawn hadn't meant safe, they'd learned.

Just because Voldemort had fallen didn't mean the war had been completely over.

There'd been residual resistance throughout the Wizarding Community before the Ministry was able to extinguish the remaining Death Eaters and capture their sympathizers.

‘ _Why the fuck am I mulling on this?’_ Harry thought, knowing the emotional spiral that would occur if he jumped head first into the memory and guilt laden rabbit hole.

Harry clenched his teeth, willing his thoughts to more neutral, if not happy,ground.

To focus on anticipation of the night ahead, and of the pinnacle event occurring in a fortnight.

Ginny would become his wife, the Weasley family his family in name as well as in essence.

This was the time and place of his supposedly last ‘hurrah!’

After taking in the blokes in the room, he smiled fully.

No one would betray anything spoken of or done in this room.

He was safe.

And they'd also triple checked that no beetles were present either!

“Alright Ron, I'm game,” he flung his arm around Ron’s shoulders.

Ron let out a whoop and clapped in approval, setting about getting the table cleared and the seating area arranged for the next stage of what Harry envisioned would be relatively tame antics and taking the piss.

*******•••xXx•••*******

“S’Alrigh Samush.” Neville slurred, though his glassy eyes were surprisingly focused on the man slouched in the chair in front of him.“Verita… virararta… oh bugger.” He waved his hand in annoyance, his face screwed up comically.

“Troothsh or dare.”

“Truth.” Seamus said immediately.“I'm done with dares after that last one!”

Despite being much farther into his cups than the rest of them, he'd developed a tolerance that allowed him the dignity of not being as noticeably drunk as Neville was.

Or as Theo, Harry noticed. 

The quiet Slytherin was passed out in a squishy armchair in the corner by the fire.

The light of the flickering flames threw his delicate bone structure into relief, and the tiny dribble of drool leaking down his chin didn’t detract from the sight of slightly parted reddened lips.

Lips that bore similar shape and color to Ginny’s.

Harry took another drink from his tumbler of fire whiskey, finding his throat parched.

The darkness outside the leaden windows gave testimony to the late hour, and the bodies scattered haphazardly around the room in various states of sobriety and dishevelment indicated how rowdy the night had become.

“—it’s not something I've ever put a name to it or anything…”

Harry realized he'd zoned out and missed the first half of Seamus’s answer and the question entirely.

“What did you ask him, Nev?” He said, though wasn't sure if Neville heard him.

His face was turning a shade of green…

“WIZARD DOWN!” Bellowed Ron, as Neville, in spectacular fashion, coated the floor with his stomachs contents.

‘ _At least,’_ Harry thought, ‘ _Nev was smart enough to turn the other way_!’

Blaise, seated near Harry, gave a sigh and flicked his wand lazily.

The mess vanished, and with another wave and a flick, so did the smell of sick.

Neville hoisted himself up and staggered toward the door leading to the loo.

Harry threw a silencing charm against the door as the sound of retching began.

“He asked if I prefer blokes to witches, or the other way round,” Seamus answered. “I told him both, in equal fashion. Don't really care which to be honest… it's more the person, you know?”

Harry blinked.

“You like…erm, I mean…”

Harry scratched the back of his head, looking slightly bewildered as he took in Seamus with fresh eyes.

He'd grown up hearing from Uncle Vernon that same gender intimacy was an abomination, and that people like _them_ are why the world was going to the dogs.

It was a lesson that had permeated Harry's subconscious to a level he hadn't realized until this moment. 

He'd never questioned the possibility of there being any other option than himself with a woman.

With a witch. 

And honestly, with all that had gone on these past seven years, he hadn’t explored past staying alive, to have the chance to really delve into if he _had_ any other preferences.

To have someone acknowledge, so casually and forthright, the desire of someone of their own gender, of both, equally…

It was like the sun had risen over the sill and spread its light across the floor of his suppressed brain, scrubbing at the words of hatred imprinted on the inside of his eyelids.

He knew that sometimes he could be naive and obtuse, to the annoyance and amusement of his two best mates.He really hadn't been exposed to much enlightened thinking, growing up the way he had.

He had so many questions, hearing Seamus’s candid profession.

Questions spinning around like an obscurial in his brain, waiting to be released upon the air like the newly vanished vomit.

“Right, my turn.” Blaise said, smoothly interrupting Harry as he began forming the questions into vocalized reality. “Potter, veritaserum or dare?”

Harry realized with a jolt that he actually hadn't seen the taller man drink past what he'd imbibed over dinner.

Come to think on it, neither had Malfoy.

Draco.

Malfoy.

Whatever, it was all getting bloody confusing keeping everything untangled in his mind. 

Malfoy was the tosser from before, Draco the reformed acquaintance.

So, Draco.

Harry had, on the other hand, drank more than he should have knowing he was shite at holding his spirits.

Alcohol, he'd discovered, loosened his tongue, and all the suppressedsass, rage, angst and inappropriate humor had free reign. 

But other than two pink spots on his cheeks, he didn't appear as drunk as he was and no one was the wiser until he suddenly blacked out.

“Ummmm…” Harry hedged, but then decided to throw caution to the wind. 

Truths were always oh so boring, and he felt a twinge of fire dance along his veins in anticipatory abandon.

He knew the man across from him would come up with something good.

“Dare.”

He'd witnessed the type of dares Blaise had doled out over the course of the night, and wasn't concerned that he'd humiliate him too horribly.

They were all mates after all, and most weren't in the state to remember much about now anyway.

It was only as the last of the word left his tongue that he began to feel true unease deep in his veins.

Anticipation be damned.

Blaise’s eyes gleamed as the flames of the rooms candles danced reflectively in their depths.

“I admit myself curious Potter… and almost, dissatisfied.” He began, his long fingers stroking his chin thoughtfully. “I've listened to and been witness to years of antagonism and utter hatred between you and Draco. Yet after everything, it seems you've been able to bury the wand and shake hands almost without care.” He dropped his hands, sat forward, and rested his arms on his knees. “How, and why?”

“Blaise, you're going soft. That's not a dare, that's a truth wrapped in a Hufflepuff scarf,” Draco’s drawl was like smooth whiskey over ice, a direct contrast to the sharp pop and crackle of the fire in the hearth.

Blaise hadn't let his gaze leave Harry’s, and it was that intensity that prompted him to answer.

“If Hermione could tolerate him, hades; if she could champion him to Ron and I like she did after everything she'd endured, I figured he must not be such an arrogant arsehole as he'd been.Or,” Harry coughed, eyes flicking over Draco before slamming back to Blaise, “the arrogant arsehole I'd believed him to be.That he was someone it was worth getting to know proper.”

Now both Slytherins turned intense gazes upon him.

Blaise had an almost triumphant air about him, if the slight smirk flirting with the corner of his lips was anything to go by.

Draco was looking at him like he was a puzzle worth solving. His cheeks were tinged pink with what Harry assumed was heat from the fire across the room.

Couldn't be from his words…

Harry’s stomach felt off suddenly, like how it did when he'd performed the Wronski Faint and his body and mind traveled faster than his insides.

“I know you're marrying the firecracker in two weeks, and as someone who’s been at the end of her wand more than once I offer sincere congratulations and condolences in advance.”

Now Blaise leaned back, the epitome of relaxed elegance save for the feral gleam to his gaze.

“But before then, Potter, your dare is for you to properly put the past behind you two. Put it in the past with the same passion of emotion you threw at each other these past seven years.”

“What do you—”

“I dare you, Harry Potter, to snog Draco Malfoy.”

Harry's mouth gaped open like fish.

‘ _What the bloody fuck?_ ’ He thought, trying desperately to quell the sense of intrigue—curiosity?—that arose within him at Blaise's words.

“Not some second year peck, nor some sixth year Valentine's Day kiss.” Blaise continued. “I mean, a snog worthy of a broom-closet tryst. Let this be the final Battle Ground for all the pent up shite your friends and I have been witness to.”

Harry turned to throw an incredulous look at Draco only to notice his face shutting down, his features hardening into the facade he’d projected in sixth year.

The year Harry had been all but obsessed with the blond, stalking him round the clock. 

In fact, he'd spent more time obsessing over Draco then he'd spent fantasizing over Ginny, come to think of it.

Well if _that_ wasn't a mindfuck…

“Blaise, no.” Said Draco, ice coating every syllable. 

Blaise merely raised an eyebrow at Harry.

“Well Gryffindor? Are you going to fulfill my dare, or do we need to come up with a proper retribution for forfeiting?”

Harry looked at Draco.

Draco stared back benignly, lips pressed together, chin thrust slightly forward, posture ridged with ingrained poise.

“That's a bloody cruel thing to inflict upon a best mate Zabini,” Harry said dryly, “Throwing not only his school enemy but also a bloke at him? Look at him! He just said no!I will not, will _never_ , snog someone unwilling.”

He'd started off in jest, but by the end his words had become louder and edged in granite.

“And what the fuck kind of dare is that anyway Zabini?” Harry glared at him.

“Let's just say that Draco and I have an understanding about tonight, and leave it at that.” Blaise said, nonchalantly. “File it under, ‘things Blaise does for shits and giggles.’ And know that, for tonight, I have explicit permission to control Draco’s choices and actions. Or haven't you been paying attention?”

Harry had, in fact, noticed the way Draco seemed to wait a beat before eating, drinking, bloody hell, even leaving to use the loo. He just hadn't paid mind to it past the notice of observation.

“What did you—”

“None of your business Potter,” Draco said, then lowered his eyes briefly. “Harry. Fuck that's a hard habit to break.”

“Tell me about it,” mumbled Harry.

“Wa’s happnin’ overs heeer?” Ron swung himself into the chair next to Harry, his mug sloshing on the table what looked like a mix of fire whisky and…

“Is that blood?” Asked Harry, eyebrows shooting up under his hairline.

Ron's cheeks flushed brighter than they already were, warmed by drink and fire.

“T’was a gift, from Charlie. Dragons blood, elf wine and fire whisky mixed.The blood helps stop a hangover and makes the drinker able to…”

He leaned closer to Harry as if to share a secret.

His state of drunkenness, however, meant that all in their vicinity heard, “It'll give you increased stamina. You know, in bed.”

Ron wiggled his eyebrows and smirked.

“And you didn't think to share any with the man of the hour, before sampling it yourself?” Drawled Blaise, and both Harry and Draco shot him looks that could have scorched earth.

“S’why I came over,” Ron said.

“Here Harry, so you don't feel like dung tomorrow. Have some. ” He held the mug out toward Harry. “Though keep whatever you and Ginny get up to later between yourselves.”

Harry, knowing he never tolerated liquor well judging by the hippogryffs that paraded through his brain the morning after, took a hardy swig.

“Fuck that's rancid,” Harry said, grimacing as the thickened liquid slid down his throat. Moments later he felt a warmth in his stomach, which began spreading through his body.He took a few more, smaller sips, relishing the feeling of contentment and warmth spreading though him.

“Harry here was just about to fulfill or reneg on a dare,” Blaise said once Harry had retuned the mug to Ron.

“What's the dare?” Ron asked.

“To snog Draco,” said Harry, waving his hand toward the pale man in front of him. “And not just a peck, or a school grade kiss. What was it you said Zabini?”

“A snog worthy of a broom closet tryst,” Seamus piped in helpfully, and Harry groaned.

He'd forgotten Seamus was still there, and had heard everything.

Seamus, who never backed down from a dare, no matter what.

Seamus, who Harry now knew didn't have a preference for whom he got off with… and no one batted an eye.

That it was ok!

Ron's face was comically blank, for all of two seconds, before he roared with laughter.

“If you'd have picked anyone else, Zabini, I'd have duelled you for asking him to step out on my sister. Even if it is a game!” He shook his head chuckling, and took another sip of his drink. “But these two,” he jerked his thumb at Harry and Draco, “this is payment for the amount of annoying shite they put me and Hermione—and I'm sure you and yours as well—through over the years.”

Ron’s expression suddenly sobered as he turned toward Harry.

“In fact, Harry, if it hadn't been for the fact you’ve never shown any preference towards males, I'd have thought you were into him. Like, _into him_ , into him.”

“Sitting right here Weasel.”

“Eat dung Malfoy,” Ron said cheerfully.

“Anyway, Harry, the way you went on and on about him every year, I thought at first you were more like Charlie. But then Cho, and Ginny… well, after that I figured he was just your nemesis and that was that.”

“Charlie likes men?” Blurted Harry, though realized he didn't know the man enough, or at all in fact, to know about his favorite food let alone his sexual presence.

Why this was at all shocking him, he hadn't a clue other than he felt left out of a big, obvious, secret.

That apparently wasn't secret, or even taboo in the Wizarding world.

“Of all the things you took from that drivel, that is what you focused on?” Blaise laughed. “You are interesting, Potter.”

“Well,” Ron says, kicking his leg out at Blaise who merely crossed it over the other out of reach. “He says he prefers the solitude of working with dragons, but if he _needs_ an itch scratched, he seeks out blokes. Found that out graphically when I walked in on him and his dorm-mate, his seventh year over Easter hols.”

Ron’s face was an amusing display of disgust and embarrassment at the memory. “It took ages to get the image of his pale freckled arse out of my head!!”

As the laughter died down, silence fell upon the five wizards sitting around the end of the table farthest from the fire.

Dean had begged off earlier, needing to be up early for his shift at the Quibbler.

He was now the official illustrator and layout artist—Graphic Designer not a title in the Wizarding world—and assisted Luna in helping her father establish the paper as a legitimately viewed source of news rather than a joke read.

Neville was currently desecrating the washroom with his stomach contents, and Theo’s obnoxious snoring reminded Harry of Aunt Marges dog Ripper.

“Well Harry, you gonna snog the bloke or forfeit?” Said Seamus, nodding toward Draco. “You're holding up the game mate.”

Harry glanced at Draco, who was inspecting his nails as if he had not a care in the world.

“Oh bloody hell, it's just a fucking snog,” Harry said, standing up with such force he wobbled slightly on his feet before Ron reached a hand out to steady him. “I'm sure Ginny will take the piss out of me when she hears about this.”

He looked at Blaise and smirked.

“Or you,” he said, jabbing his finger toward the smug Slytherin. “Might be the recipient of one of her Bat-bogeys. Be warned Zabini!”

Harry turned and offered his hand to Draco.

“Come on, let's get this over with.”

“So romantic Potter. It's a wonder you managed to convince a witch to marry you.”

Draco dragged himself up and out of his chair, shooting Blaise a look Harry couldn't decode before ignoring Harry's hand and moving gracefully toward the vacant settee along the exterior wall.

“You coming anytime soon?” Draco asked archly, and Seamus snorted into his elf made wine.

Harry scowled at his old dormmate, quelling whatever comment was about to pop out of the Irishman's mouth, before walking over to join Draco.

“I think the point of this would be to not sit an ocean apart,” Draco glanced pointedly at the person-wide space Harry had left between them when he'd sat down.

“And I think the point is to provide blackmail material for Zabini’s mental vault.“ snarked Harry,running his fingers through his hair.

It wasn't like this was a big deal, in so much as it was just a kiss.

He'd witnessed plenty of those through his peers and on occasion, the Telly, though he himself had only kissed Cho once and Ginny… well, he'd kissed Ginny quite extensively.

It was only recently, since the war, that they'd taken their relationship physically further. They were ironing out the lumps and bumps of discovering what each of them liked, though Harry always felt rather… adrift afterward.

It wasn't like he had anything to compare it too, she was his first though he knew he wasn't hers.

Dean held that honor.

But he was sure there had to be something, more, something that he just wasn't doing right.

Like, now that the war was over, and the threat of imminent death had lifted from his head—Merlin, he actually had died, this was his second life or whatever—it felt like the initial immediacy and bursts of pleasure he'd found with Ginny were now lacking somewhat. 

It was enjoyable, their times together, and he adored her immensely…

Just something felt rather, off, since they'd picked up the relationship mantel again.

Ron wasn't any help, seeing as the thought of Harry with his baby sister did funny things to his complexion and he found anywhere else to be than in thatconversation.

Hermione was irritatingly vague when he sought her out for advice. He was used to her pushing him around for his own good and generally helping him make sense of a lot of societal things he lacked understanding of. 

She'd opened his eyes to a lot over the years, despite his protestations otherwise.

Lately though, she's begun using muggle psychology techniques on him, making him supply the answer and asking leading questions without giving him a clue as to how he should respond.

It was…

Well, he loved Ginny and they were marrying in a month and that was that.

He'd read a book or something, talk to Neville or even Seamus about how to get better at whatever it was he was doing wrong between the sheets.

It would get better between him and Ginny, Harry was _sure_ of it.

He was just nervous, just questioning because now he had time too, but that didn't mean it was anything to waste time on or believe in.

‘ _Right, snog the wanker and give Zabini a show, laugh it off and drink the night away with Ron before calling Kreacher to bring me home_.” he thought, then summoned his inner Gryffindor and turned toward the wizard beside him.

*******•••xXx•••*******

Awkward shifting.

Noses bumping.

Hands tentative, unsure.

Surprising softness.

Slow.

Warmth.

Smooth tongue, exploring.

Tentative, questioning.

Sighs of acceptance.

Pleasure.

Dueling for supremacy.

Taking.

Giving

Quick bursts of lightening.

Like a candle lit, flame rising.

Darkness illuminated

Plunging off the edge.

Teeth.

Nips and scrapes along his jaw.

Soothed with lips, with licks.

Sucking, tasting.

The tickle of barely-there stubble against his cheek.

His chin.

His neck.

His lips.

Hands everywhere.

Rasps of breath against his ear.

Words whispered, panted.

Silken strands threading through his fingers.

Hands in his own hair.

Grasping. Pulling.

Fingers massaging his scalp, his neck.

Sweat. Heat.

Hands drifting…

Lower.

Over.

Under…

Tongues teasing, gently, caressing…

Hardened angles…

Flattened where there should be curves.

Where there should be nothing…

Definitely something.

Something with a mind of its own…

Friction.

Silk cloth against denim.

Belt buckles.

Movement.

Just there, just there…

Oh bloody hell

*******•••xXx•••*******

The light streaming in through the half drawn curtains was the first thing Harry registered upon gaining consciousness.

The dancing beams painted streaks of red on the inside of his eyelids, which he squeezed shut knowing the pounding headache he'd get upon opening them.

The second thing he registered, was the sticky mess in his pants.

Harry hadn't found himself in such a state since sixth year, though he frustratingly couldn't remember what he'd been dreaming of to elicit this sort of mess.

The third thing he registered was the floral scent of his fiancé.

Not just the subtle aroma that lingered on the pillow after she'd spent a weekend at Gimmauld.

No, this was more.

This was…

“I know you're awake Harry.”

Cool hands felt his forehead, moving the strand of hair that had stuck itself between his creased eyelid.

“Ron came round earlier; just floo’d home,” she said.

Harry, realizing that Ron had probably filled her in on the evenings activities, registered another thing.

Her voice, normally as energized as she was, was flat.

Not angry, not sad, not amused, not even disgusted… just, flat.

‘ _Shite! Merlin's saggy left ballsack,’_ Harry groaned, as images of blond hair, reddened lips, bruises peppered along a jawline, taunted him. 

The taste of elf wine, matured mead, firewhisky and something... else costed his lips.

He ran his tongue along them. Tasting. Thinking.

‘ _Peppermint_?’ He thought. Swiping his tongue over his bottom lip again and tasting once more. “ _Nope, anise.”_

Draco loveD sugar quills, the licorice ones his favorite.

Mystery solved, Harry turned, wrestling his eyes open and owlishly blinked up at Ginny from his nest of blankets and pillows.

After years of neglect and deprivation at the hands of his relatives, Harry joyfully indulged his desire for lavish, comfortable, over-the-top, bedding.

He realized his head didn't hurt as his shielded eyes adjusted to the morning light.

Harry shook his head carefully, grimacing slightly in anticipation of the thundering pain that typically occurred after a night out.

There was none.

Confident that opening his eyes fully wouldn't render him a sobbing mess upon the floor, he scrambled to find his glasses before thrusting them upon his face and gazed at Ginny fully.

She didn't look angry.

Or sad.

Or anything, really…

“Ron shared Charlie's gift with you,” Ginny said evenly, nodding as she rose from the bed and reached for Harry’s dressing gown strewn upon the floor beside her foot.

Flinging it onto the bed, she turned toward the door.

“We need to talk Harry, and I don't think the bedroom is the best place. I'll be downstairs in the kitchen when you've cleaned up.”

The door closed gently behind her, and Harry quickly rose to shower, dress and follow.

*******•••xXx•••*******

Harry poured milk into his tea and stirred, avoiding Ginny's eyes until he sat down across from her.

‘ _Bloody fuck, why did I let Zabini get to me?_ ’ Harry thought. ‘ _Why the fuck didn't I just forfeit instead of snogging Malfoy_?’

Ginny sighed, and Harry realized he'd said the last sentence out loud.

“That's only one of the questions I have after talking with Ron.First off though,” she held up a hand to stall Harry from speaking. “I know you would never intentionally cheat on me, and would do whatever you could to make this, us, work.”

Harry nodded, her words fueling hope that they could move past this and fall back into the new ‘post-war’ normal they'd carved for themselves.

Ginny's next words shattered that hope.

“If it had been any other bloke, I'd have said last night wasn't anything to get upset over. What's a harmless if embarrassing, juvenile game between mates?”

She peered earnestly at Harry, who felt her piercing gaze down to his soul.

“But Malfoy? Honestly Harry, of all the blokes to snog… and how you two…” she looked away and Harry saw the sheen of moisture thread itself along her lower lid.

“The way Ron tells it, you two definitely put on a show.”

Bitterness had crept into her words, shattering the flatness. Harry felt nausea rise up and quickly took a sip of tea to suppress it.

Ginny blinked quickly and straightened in her seat.

“I always thought you were it for me. Not the Chosen One—I got over that rubbish after first year—but you, Harry. Just you. But I was never on your radar… not until I all but threw myself at you after a match. In public. But you put me aside, on the shelf, while you ran away to war…”

“Ginny, I love you and didn't want to see you hurt! I—”

She looked away, seeming to shore herself up before getting up and walking to sit beside him on the kitchen bench.

Facing him, forcing Harry to turn toward and face her back.

Each within the others personal bubble.

“I slept with Neville, Harry, just after Christmas.It went on until I left for Easter. I hadn't seen him, or you, until the day we all came back to fight that final battle. We hadn't ended it, not really… we just sort of were, but then you were there, and I saw you, I thought—believed—you dead.Then you weren't and Harry, I just wanted, I needed…well, you were there. Alive. You wanted me and I still loved you.”

Her voice cracked and the tears she'd been holding at bay started to fall in earnest down her freckles cheeks.

“Things were, things at the castle were bad. I don't know if those who returned have told you.The full extent we endured. None of us were safe.Added to that, I didn't know if you were dead, alive, all I knew was that Neville was there, and we were fighting together… and…”

Harry say there, numb.

Numb, but yet.

A sense of relief began to trickle through the fog of his pickled brain.

He couldn't even bring himself to be angry. 

Not over this. 

Not when they truly hadn't been together, Ginny was justified in her contempt at being left behind, and not after his own actions the previous night.

“You and Neville.” He breathed out, laughing humorlessly. “No wonder he can’t look me in the eye lately. Since we announced our engagement actually.”

Ginny nodded, her eyes blazing through the tears.

“At first, I felt so guilty, but we weren't together, you and I. You LEFT me Harry, like some delicate flower, but I fought. I was there, in that war, in the bloody trenches.And I was terrified. Angry. And Neville… well, he saw ME. He fought WITH me, FOR me!”

Ginny sniveled, and Harry sat up, reaching for her hand.

“Not just because it was for the greater good, and I was just along for the ride.” She finished quietly, and Harry grimaced.

“It wasn't like that Ginny,” Harry whispered, though deep in his gut he wondered if her words held some truth.

She shrugged.

“It was to me, Harry. Impact over intent.”

Harry grimaced again.

“Did you know Neville could have been the Chosen One, instead of me?” Harry asked.Ginny's eyes widened and she shook her head ‘no.’

“S’true. Dumbledore told me, after the disaster at the Ministry.The prophecy applied to both of us, but Voldemort chose me.Marked me. It was a choice between Neville and I before I even knew his name or that he existed at all.”

Pulling her hand into his lap, he rubbed circles along her knuckles as he asked quietly, “did you, I mean, do you still fancy him?”

“I don't know,” she mumbled, chewing on her lip before looking up at Harry.

“Yes, Harry. Yes, I do. Those feelings didn't just go away because you came back.But I thought, ok, Harry and I will put it all behind us.We were in a war, we’ll forge a new life together in peace. Be a unit. The past is past.”

She shook her head, shoulders drooping.

“But they're still there.”

They stared at each other, all the regret and guilt and love and sorrow written upon their faces.

Mirrors of each other's truths.

“I think,” Harry began, “I think I…”

He couldn't say it, the words choked in his throat, strangling his tongue.

Ginny's face softened and she cupped his chin.

Her thumb traced comforting circles along his jawline, mimicking Harry's movements upon her knuckles, tracing over spots tender from the previous nights activities.

“Oh Harry,” she said, and there was a gentle rebuke to her words. “One doesn't snog someone the way you and Malfoy apparently went at it last night, if one doesn't have feelings… strong feelings. It's alright to admit that, especially to me, considering everything.”

Harry felt the wind go out of him.

This was the first acknowledgment that what he maybe, possibly, felt… that it was ok.

That he wasn't unworthy, like his Uncle always proclaimed those of his inclination to be.

“I'm so sorry Ginny.” Harry felt his own tears build behind his eyelids, and soon they were falling alongside Ginny’s. “I never… I hadn't realized…”

“I know Harry. And that's almost the hardest part.” Ginny raised his chin so she was looking directly in his eyes. “Even though you didn't know it, it was always there, visible to any who chose to look but you…”

She leaned forward and they sat there, foreheads touching, holding hands as they cried for the loss they knew was happening.

Had happened—they both just hadn't known to acknowledge it.

“You know, Hermione warmed me, back in fifth year.She cautioned that you weren't, well, weren't all that ‘knowledgeable or aware,’ when it came to dealings of sexual desires and all that. She knew I was, growing up with brothers and thin walls; with parents who multiplied like rabbits and who weren't shy with their affections toward one another. But she subtly pointed out ways that your naive nature could hurt you, and me, if we became involved.”

Harry frowned.

“It would have been great had she filled me in on that conversation,” he muttered.

Ginny laughed and socked him in the arm.

“Right, that would have gone well. Since when did you ever listen to her when it came to Malfoy?”

Harry blushed.

“Just recently,” he said.

“Point, me.” Ginny said, then sighed. “You're a good man Harry.I’m not overly pleased that it took snogging Malfoy on your stag night to realize you're head over tit for the bloke, but better now than after the wedding.”

“Would there have actually been a wedding Ginny?” Harry asked. “I mean, there's Neville. And, well, it doesn't feel like we were a good fit on either side of this, this go round.”

“I suppose I'd have done something dramatic like leave you at the stone or something equally gossip worthy.” Ginny cheeked, “Honestly Harry, I would like to think we'd have talked before hand and cleared the air about Neville at least. If last night hadn't happened, I know you and I would have been happy together. I just don't know if we'd have been… fully satisfied.”

“You felt it too?”

“The awkwardness? Yeah.” She grimaced sheepishly.“I thought it was just because I had more experience so knew what to expect.It takes a bit of time to figure out how to get a girl off proper, so I knew it would be a bit bumpy at first. Guys are much simpler you know.” She smiled and winked.

Then made a gesture that would have earned her a stern swat from Mrs. Weasley.

Harry laughed. Then blushed.

“Oh sod off,” he said, glad they could still joke with each other despite how raw they both felt.

“Knowing everything though, it does make things clearer in that respect.” Ginny said and Harry agreed.

“There always felt like something was missing. Though I didn't know what.”

“I'd say a Malfoy sized—”

Harry covered her mouth and shook his head.

“Not yet. Not there yet Gin. Still getting my head round saying this all out loud. This may not be a total shock to you, but I'm just coming to terms about this about myself.”

Ginny's eyes softened and she nodded in understanding.

“So this is yours,” She handed him the engagement ring he'd found in a dusty lead box that had been hidden away toward the rear of the Potter vault. 

The fire opal had suited her, as did the thin gold Gaelic threading around the band.

It still did.

“Keep it Ginny,” Harry said, closing her fingers back over the ring. “We may not be getting married anymore but I still love you. I’ll always care for you. Sell it, wear it on a string, give it to Neville's grandmother, whatever… it's yours to do with as you please.”

Ginny looked at him a moment, then quietly pocketed it.

She bent and wrapped him in a hug.

“I'm going to go. I need some time Harry, to sort myself out. And you need time too.”

Harry nodded, his sinuses clogged from the amount of tears he'd shed so quickly. Summoning two handkerchiefs he handed one to Ginny before wiping his face and blowing his nose.

“See you around Harry.” Ginny said, dropping a kiss to his forehead.

Then she was up the kitchen stairs and out of the house.

*******•••xXx•••*******

“I wondered when you'd arrive,” Hermione said, pulling a dazed Harry into her arms as he staggered and stumbled out of her floo like a drunken monkey.

He still hated to use the bloody floo network.

Even after all this time.

“What do you mean?” Harry said after detangling himself from her welcoming embrace.

“After what Ron told me, I had to see for myself. I've been practicing, you know? Occlumency and legilimency.”

“How?” Asked Harry, but knew before Hermione had replied.

“Malfoy.” They said together.

“Figures,” Harry muttered.

“Anyway,” Hermione said, dragging Harry toward the sofa and pushing him down against some sad looking throw pillows. “Ron let me try and see bits of last night. And I…”

She trailed off, words seeming to fail her as her face turned rather like a tomato.

“Are you alright Hermione?”

“Fine,” she squeaked and Harry whipped his head around at the sound of Ron’s laughter coming from the doorway to the kitchen.

“Oh she's fine all right.” Said Ron, throwing himself down into the armchair across from the sofa and pulling Hermione down atop his lap from where she'd stood in front of Harry. “More than fine. Apparently seeing you two going at it in my mind lit her fuse, which Charlie's gift helped keep aflame.”

“Ronald, hush. That's private! And tactless, you great git! Now let. Me. Up!” Hermione said, swatting at her boyfriend, though her words were devoid of any menace.

Harry was mortified.

It was one thing to begin to even contemplate, well, what he was contemplating.

It was another thing entirely to learn that the sight of what he was contemplating impacted his friend's own intimate encounters.

He felt like Alice falling through the Rabbit hole. 

It had been the only muggle book he'd been able to read cover to cover without Dudley and his gang taking it and destroying it for fun.

The discombobulated world felt very apt right now.

“Ginny and I are over,” Harry blurted. “She was with Neville while we were on the run. Still fancies him.Can't blame her, not really. Especially not after…”

He broke off and gazed into the banked fireplace.

He saw Hermione and Ron exchange a look through his peripheral vision, before Hermione came and sat next to him on the sofa.

“Harry,” Hermione said gently, “there's nothing you could say that will change how we see you. How we feel about you.”

“I don't know how… I wasn't raised to even think the things I'm thinking now.” Harry felt old tensions rise within him, suddenly aware of what those tensions had meant. So many things began to make sense, to slot into holes he hadn’t realized he’d needed filled.

Cedric.

Tom Riddle from the diary.

Regulus.

Hell, even the younger version of Sirius he'd glimpsed in Snape’s pensive memory.

He'd found all of them incredibly attractive.

More-so than Fleur, which said a lot about why he was able to withstand her allure where Ron couldn't, even now if caught unawares.

And earlier, before learning he was a wizard.

Different boys would catch his eye, but he never acknowledged the truth for what it was.

Part was age and innocence of childhood, part was subconscious suppression for survival.

And all the while his uncles words paraded though his brain, telling him he's ‘the wrong sort’ while he quietly buried everything that made him more of a freak.

Like he hadn't heard that, every single day he'd lived with the Dursley's.

But this time those words hit home and dug in deep.

“I told you about Charlie, yeah?” Ron said. “He’s my brother and I love him. And Seamus swings both ways, and hell, if what Hermione says is true regarding Rita's book on Dumbledore, he was himself entangled with Grindlewald in their youth.”

“Dumbledore?” Harry couldn't picture the elderly Headmaster in any role but the one he'd known him in—picturing him as a young man, with Grindlewald…

It was mind boggling.

More of his internal walls disintegrated at this news.

“It must have been a massive shock, becoming , well, interested, instead of feeling like you were snogging wet parchment.”

“Understatement of the century.” mumbled Harry. “It was even more shocking that he snogged me back. That he was as into it as I was.”

“Oh Harry, you are so blind sometimes. Malfoy has been besotted with you since forever. One only looks at how much he went out of his way to not only gain your attention—and in super creative ways—to know he’s into you.”

“What's your reasoning behind him calling me a king then Hermione,” Ron asked. “Even wrote a bloody song about me!”

“To get Harry's attention and with the bonus of humiliating you. Honestly, teaspoons the both of you.”

She was beaming at them, and Harry felt lighter than he had in…

Forever, really.

No Voldemort.

No shackling Ginny to a man who—now that the floodgates had opened and he saw with clarity his own desires as they were for the first time—wouldn't have been able to satisfy her as she deserved.

And vice versa.

He was facing this new and terrifying territory with his best mates beside him.

“Oi! I just want to say, I don't want to hear anything about what you and Malfoy get up to. Like with Ginny, the ward of silence remains.”

Harry felt his stomach clench.

“Is it because he's a bloke?”

Ron recoiled as if struck.

“Merlin no Harry! It's because it's bloody Malfoy! If it was any other bloke, but the ferret…”

Hermione threw a stinging hex at Ron, who yelped.

“What Ron is doing the worst job of saying, is that once he's over the shock of knowing there's a chance Malfoy will be a part of our lives even more than he anticipated given my current work situation, he will be thrilled to be there to ensure your happiness.”

“Bleeding ferret.” Harry heard Ron grumble as he rubbed his calf where the hex had hit.

“And until he gets there, you can always come to me.” Hermione reached out and placed her hand upon Harry's arm, squeezing gently. “You're not alone Harry.”

And for the first time, in maybe forever, Harry felt the utter truth to those words.

“Can I use Pig to send an owl?”

“Course mate,” Ron said, getting up to retrieve Pig from the other room. He came back with some parchment, a quill, and the perpetually rumpled miniature owl.

Harry penned a letter to Draco, asking if he could pop over.

“Someone’s eager,” quipped Ron, reading over Harry's shoulder.

“Oh sod off you wanker.” Laughed Harry.

It felt great, being with Ron and Hermione.

Knowing he was accepted.

Just for being Harry.

*******•••xXx•••*******

Harry's hands were sweating as he climbed the steps of Draco's flat. 

He was thankful to not have to return to Malfoy Manor to seek out Draco.

Following the war, Draco had eschewed anything to do with the Manor or the Malfoy Estate in principle, turning everything to do with the mansion over to his mother and getting a flat with Theodore and Blaise.

it was located in a posh area of London that apparently was a hotbed for Wizards and Witcheshiding in plain sight. As Harry had walked from the apparition point to Draco’s flat, he’d been captivated by the neighborhood, and found himself enchanted by the quirks and subtle hints of Wizarding culture woven discretely amongst the muggle landscape.

Upon his father's death—which Harry couldn't say he was particularly saddened over—Draco had shifted all assets that had been used for anything Death Eater related to his mothers competencies, washing his hands of the whole thing completely.

Draco had then emptied out his entire trust vault left to him by his grandfather, setting up a new vault separate from the old Malfoy money. The ministry was systematically withdrawing reparations from the vaults of those who'd followed Voldemort or were professed Blood Supremists like Umbridge and were now expecting them to financially assist in the rebuilding of the British Wizarding community.

“Father already destroyed my family once. I’m unwilling to leave myself open to having to pay, yet again, for his bad choices. Let them take from the old accounts. Drain then all for all I give two shites,” he’d raged to Hermione after all was set with Gringotts and his gold.

Even the goblins had been gobsmacked by this shakeup, as his actions were unheard of for those of his standing and now meant he was in a newer vault with less protections and esteem than those of the established elite.

“It's like the world’s gone barmy.” Draco had apparently grumbled to Hermione over lunch one day. “Can't a wizard attempt a new beginning without every action being scrutinized from every bloody angle?”

“Not when you're a Malfoy,” Hermione has replied. 

Harry reached out a steady hand for the ornate knocker situated in the middle of the door.

And knocked.

Harry was a jumble of nerves as he waited for the door to open. As he waited to see Draco in the light of day, and explore what he discovered the night before.

His body hummed with anticipation and with the hopeful potential of new beginnings.

As the door opened and Draco’s face came into view, Harry felt a shiver of excitement trickle down his spine.

Before him stood the wizard who held for Harry the possibilities to truly, fully, live.

To be completely Harry.

Without the Wizarding Worlds expectations and Hero worship, nor suppressed under his Uncles bigoted indoctrination.

”Scared, Potter?” Draco’s smile was cocky yet surprisingly tentative. 

Harry beamed back unabashedly and watched as Draco’s whole being relaxed.

”You wish,” Harry replied as he followed Draco into the flat.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to all that voted, reviewed, left kudo’s. I appreciate all your support and for taking the time to let me know your thoughts!


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